


Night Crossing

by kelex



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-15 22:44:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7241794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelex/pseuds/kelex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alone and desperately drunk, Will questions everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Crossing

Will Graham was drunk.

Not a state he usually found himself in, however, the numbing cloud offered by the alcohol was entirely preferable to another night of insomnia or worse.

So he sat, in the buttery-soft leather chair that smelled like Hannibal, and poured two fingers of whiskey. And then two more. And when those were gone, another two. Between drinks, he cradled the heavy glass between his palms. 

In the facets of the crystal, memories muted by the sloshing of amber liquid played on an endless loop.

Chiyoh's prisoner, filthy and skeletal, turned into a sacrificial lamb, an offering of death and art that would never be seen by the one who inspired it.

The Italian officer, Pazzi, deep in the catacombs and already courting the death waiting for him at the end of an electrical cord. 

Mason Verger in his wheelchair, watching the blood course down Cordell's face while Will spat out a chunk of flesh. And the quick glimpse of the delight and amusement in Hannibal's smirk.

Poor, smarmy Frederick Chilton, burnt to a crisp and sickeningly reminiscent of the seared "pork" that Hannibal had served on so many occasions. 

Francis Dolarhyde, the Red Dragon living up to his name as his blood formed dragon's wings on the patio of the bluff house, now perilously close to falling into the sea.

Hannibal Lecter, clinging tightly as their injured bodies spilt intermingled blood from shared wounds. He no longer knew where he left off and Hannibal began, and so only a joint death would be appropriate.

Bedelia DuMaurier, fading into nothingness as they savored Saltimbocca with asparagus, with a specially-chosen Pinot Grigio. It was her last dish.

The bitter fight three days ago, when Alana and Margot had shown up three towns over, vacationing at a luxury spa. Hannibal had fully intended to collect on his debt; Will had forbidden it.

Then the fateful words, and the real reason Will was drinking: "If you go, I can't stop you. But I won't be here when you get back, because I can't live with that on my conscience."

That'd been the last night he'd slept, and he'd wakened to an empty house and a cooling bed. 

And so Will drank, cataloging each failure with a chug of liquor to wash it all away. 

\-----

The bottle, which had been over half full to begin with, clattered empty to the floor. The lush Oriental rug muted the loud thump, for which Will was grateful.

The buffeting layers of alcohol kept Will from feeling the loneliness clawing at his brain. He'd gotten so used to being inside Hannibal--even more than that, he'd gotten used to Hannibal being inside his head. He hadn't forgotten by any means, but the idea of going back to the man he'd been before Hannibal honestly made him ill. 

Will started to sweat just thinking about it, and he staggered into the luxurious bathroom. He balanced himself with a hand on the shower wall, and turned the water on full. Belatedly he realized he was still fully dressed, and even through the liquor he realized how miserable he was.

The rainfall shower was gentle and delicate as it pattered onto his skin and clothes. He slid down the back wall, wrapping his arms around his knees. The shower rained down on the back of his neck, growing colder the longer he sat there.

A barking dog made Will raise his head. They had no dogs; after giving up the Wolf Trap pack as well as the second pack with Molly… he didn't want another dog he'd have to abandon. 

Great. Instead of pink elephants, he was going to see pink dogs in tutus, pirouetting on their hind legs. He shoved himself up on unsteady legs, blindly turning the faucet off. The door slid open, and Will was slammed backwards by a furry torpedo.

A splash and a squelch as Will slumped down in the shower again. A tongue licked at the water on Will's face, and the dog couldn't help barking joyfully. 

"Botticelli, heel."

The dog obediently sat down, tongue hanging out, but Will barely noticed. Something that had been knotted up inside him had loosened at the familiar sound of Hannibal's voice. Reaching out, Will touched the dog to verify its realness, and heaved out a sob when he touched warm fur. 

"Botticelli, where--oh. I see." 

Will was clinging to the dog, but he looked up to see Hannibal standing in the bathroom doorway. A look of disdain crossed his face as he took in the messy bathroom, but it softened when it landed on Will and the dog.

"I expected you to be gone." Hannibal clicked his fingers, and Botticelli trotted out of the bathroom. "I presume this belongs to you and not the dog's tail." He held out Will's empty liquor bottle.

"That's mine." Will released the dog and watched it trot out, then lunged unsteadily at Hannibal. His swing was pathetically wide, and Hannibal didn't even have to move to avoid it. "You son of a bitch, you could have called me."

The swing had Will off-balance, and Hannibal effortlessly caught and steadied him. "I had no reason to expect an answer." 

"Liar. I'd never leave you and you know it." Will's fist pounded uselessly against Hannibal's shoulder.

"Yes. And now you know it." Hannibal reached around Will and picked up a white linen towel, and wiped the water and dog slobber off Will's face. "Regardless, both Margot and Alana have left town unharmed, and Botticelli was rescued from a man beating him with a leash." 

Will barely listened as Hannibal spouted off about things Will didn't really care about, and when he'd heard enough, he pressed his lips against Hannibal's.

The familiar feel of hard angles and the aroma of something woody and Hannibal wrapped around Will when Hannibal's hands cupped Will's face. The kisses were messy, because Will could not decide what he wanted most. He wanted to taste Hannibal's tongue, he wanted to possess and own, to *be* possessed and owned, to punish and to be punished.

Hannibal seemed to be equally reticent, for once unsure of the lead he was to follow because Will was all over the place. But he didn't stop, because the desperation was a clear and obvious note in the air. The scent of old liquor and damp dog, the harsh alcohol of Old Spice or Aqua Velva, they all assaulted his nose but he didn't relent. 

Will felt his clothes soaking Hannibal's fine linen suit, and didn't give a damn. He let Hannibal push him back into the shower, and reluctantly let him go. "Hannibal?"

"Finish your shower, and please take your clothes off this time. Botticelli and I will be waiting for you."

Will's hands reached out and gripped Hannibal's lapels, tugging drunkenly at the suit. Hannibal sighed softly, and stepped into the shower, disrobing first Will and then himself. Reaching around to the faucet, he adjusted the water flow before turning the shower on. Will rested his head on Hannibal's shoulder, raining little kisses and licks to Hannibal's flesh as Hannibal's hand cradled the back of his head.

End


End file.
